


Although It's Been Said Many Times, Many Ways…

by Taimat



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Christmas, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 03:17:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taimat/pseuds/Taimat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave is pretty sure that Bro can’t tell just how hurt he is, how much he wishes he could have a (relatively) normal holiday, how much he wishes that, when Bro kisses him, touches him, tells him how much he means to him…that he could believe it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Although It's Been Said Many Times, Many Ways…

**Author's Note:**

> A Christmas fic for crow-song on Tumblr, who requested it~

When Bro hangs up mistletoe right in front of his doorway, Dave decides that it _has_ to be ironic. Because it’s _right in front of his damn door_. This means that, any time he goes in or out — and it’s his bedroom, it happens a lot — Bro is right there waiting for him. And he swoops in like some old timey villain, except he’s kissing him instead of killing him, and then Bro just grins at him and walks off and Dave can’t believe that Bro. keeps. winning.

It’s gotten to the point where he tries to dash inside before Bro can catch him, except that Bro flashsteps faster than he can, so he ends up caught in strong arms before he can make it over the threshold. And normally, he wouldn’t really mind the affection — inwardly, anyway — but he wishes he knew that it was real and not a reflection on the materialistic nature of the holiday and contrived romance and whatever else Bro had in mind when he planted that kiss bomb up there.

Sometimes he manages to sneak in or out before Bro notices. It’s rare, but it happens. And as soon as Bro’s found out, he kind of pulls this sad face. Dave’s sure he’s the only one in the world who would know it’s a sad face, but there it is. Like he missed out on something.

Dave thinks that Bro can suck up getting irony dodged once in a while. It’s probably good for him.

Thank god they don’t share the bedroom. Despite the fact that they’ve been a _thing_ for a few months now, Bro has left him his little sanctuary where he can recuperate from all of the irony, which he’s been needing more and more often, lately.

He isn’t sure when it started. He can’t remember Bro ever being this bad before. It’s like he’s pulling out all the stops. Maybe it’s because Dave has since proven his awesomeness or whatever by getting through the game, and now Bro feels like he has to kick it up a notch.

When he wandered out to get food yesterday — Bro had finally acquiesced to the fact that maybe Dave needed to eat something besides swords and had allotted nearly half the fridge for that specific purpose — he found his brother sitting on the couch cutting out _paper snowflakes_ of all things. Which he then proceeded to hang from the ceiling.

Maybe it was the gobsmacked expression on Dave’s face that made him ask,

“Wanna help, little bro?”

No. No, he didn’t. That glitter could stay right where it was.

Ten days to Christmas, Bro shows no signs of slowing down. He’s _baking cookies_ ; the little peanut butter ones that you push your thumb into so you can add chocolate in the center, and he tries to make Dave help him with that, too, except that Dave isn’t _three_ anymore. He knows when Bro’s being ironic. The fact that those cookies are his favorite only makes it worse.

And it would kind of be really, really sweet if Bro were serious about it, but Dave feels more like he’s being mocked than anything else. This isn’t how relationships are supposed to go, right?

It keeps building, between the cheesy Christmas music that’s getting scratched in their apartment, the stupid sparkly holiday-scented candles that Bro picks up from one of those bath product stores you can smell from a mile away, the tinsel that he’s draping on a fake little Christmas tree — and where had that come from? — Dave can’t take it anymore.

“Seriously, Bro, are we still doing this?” Dave is pretty sure that Bro can’t tell just how hurt he is, how much he wishes he could have a (relatively) normal holiday, how much he wishes that, when Bro kisses him, touches him, tells him how much he means to him…that he could believe it.

He can’t look at his brother as he turns and heads into his bedroom and closes the door.

Bro doesn’t even attempt to kiss him under the mistletoe.

Lying on his bed, Dave curls up under the covers and closes his eyes. He loves Bro so much it hurts sometimes, but he’d thought… He thinks Bro cares about him, but it’s so fucking hard to tell when everything is coated in so much irony Dave feels like he’s flying blind.

All he really wants for Christmas are Bro’s genuine feelings. He wants to know if Bro feels like he does.

…is that too much to ask?

~~~~~~~

Bro keeps his distance for two days.

Two days of no kissing under the mistletoe.

Two days of no cookies, no snowflakes, no Christmas music, and the apartment is silent. And heavy.

It doesn’t make Dave any happier.

The evening of the second day, when Dave is moping in his room and passing it off as something much cooler and less teenage, Bro breaches their unspoken agreement and barges in.

That might be a bit harsh. He isn’t violent about it. It’s more that he enters at all, and without even knocking.

Dave is so startled that his eyes widen behind his sunglasses.

Bro sits on his bed, folding gracefully onto it, and Dave thinks about that for a moment. Graceful. It wouldn’t be the first word he’d pick to describe his brother, but the adjective isn’t amiss.

“So. Talk.”

The younger Strider rolls onto his back, closing his eyes, but it doesn’t block the feeling of Bro staring at him all the same.

“About what?”

Bro’s voice is possibly on par with a growl. “About what you said. About what we are or are not doing.”

“Goddamnit, Bro, it’s not that big of a deal. I just want to have a normal holiday.”

“And that means?”

Dave huffs and thinks about it, but Bro is patient, like he can actually see that Dave is thinking. Which he probably can. The problem is that…Dave doesn’t know how to phrase it. Doesn’t know how to phrase what he needs to know.

“Sometimes, it’s hard to tell what a guy’s serious about when he’s busy putting the dots on Mrs. Gingerbread’s dress.”

Silence descends again, but this time, it’s Bro that’s thinking.

“Lemee get this straight. You finally decided that this couple thing is a thing you want to happen, but I’m supposed to act the exact same as I did before. No coupley things allowed. I’m not supposed to do things that make me happy or do things that make you happy. You’re all grown up, if you hadn’t noticed. Do you want me to keep treating you like a kid?”

“That’s the fucking problem. You still are. You’re still coating everything in irony, and I can’t tell which parts…” Dave trails off, upset and completely unwilling to look at Bro for fear of losing his cool even more.

“What if I told you that I liked stupid, glittery snowflakes hanging from the ceiling.”

Dave holds back a snort.

“What if I told you that I like cheesy Christmas music played over and over, so much that normal people would blow their brains out?”

Dave still doesn’t look at him, so Bro resorts to more drastic measures. Dave definitely does not squeak when Bro hauls him bodily from the bed. For as much as Dave has grown, Bro is still bigger, still stronger, and there’s not really a point in resisting, anyway.

The door had been left open, and Dave is easily pinned against the frame by the hands on his shoulders, and then when they fall, Dave continues to be pinned by the fact that _Bro is taking off his glasses and why is he doing that._

Dave’s breathing is shallow, because he can see so many things swimming in his brother’s eyes. And when Bro reaches up to touch Dave’s shades, the younger strider nods minutely.

They’re a matching set. Just like they should be. And Dave still isn’t used to this, no matter how many times they do it, and his heart gets stuck in his throat when Bro looks at him like that.

Like he’s all that matters.

And Dave wants to close his eyes, but he can’t. He can’t do that to Bro.

“What if I told you that this is the Christmas with you that I’ve always wanted, and everything I’ve been doing is because I’m really fucking excited that I finally get to have it?”

It really is a question, and Bro is waiting for his answer.

Dave tilts his head up, a little to the side, eyeing the mistletoe for a second before looking back with an expression that he hopes conveys, _Seriously?_

Bro’s smile is soft, no more than an upward twitch of his lips, and Dave thinks, _Oh. Oh, okay. Seriously, then._

Dave snorts, because he really can’t help it. This is stupid and cheesy and how on earth is this actually happening?

But all the same, he’s the one who leans forward. He’s the one who closes the distance. He’s the one kissing his brother under the mistletoe.

And Bro sighs and leans into him, and Dave smiles into the kiss.

He wishes they had an open fire to roast chestnuts on.

But there are still eight days until Christmas. He’ll see what he can do. _  
_


End file.
